The Unorthodox Engineers

abrasion is something to which I’d not cheerfully expose a clockwork mouse.”

“All right,” Fritz sighed. “What protection can we give to the cats to extend their working life?”

“A lot of the vehicle we can plastic coat, as they do with the Knudsens. The engines are a more difficult problem. Some genius thought of providing them with standard aluminium-alloy turbine housings, and what the Tazoon atmosphere does to the alloy makes my flesh creep. Even the vitreous liners devitrify and release particles of silica into the bearings.”

“Don’t bother to describe,” said Fritz, “what that does to the bearings. I think we have to face the fact that while we might save most of the cats themselves we aren’t going to be able to save many of the engines. We could devise a system of enclosing the engines in an inert atmosphere— but I doubt if we have the facilities here to do a permanent job. We then also need a supply of controlled pH, moisture-free oxygen for the air intake. I think we could produce that by electrolysis, but I doubt if we can handle it in sufficient quantities to be of much value.”

“And so on ad-infinitum,” said Jacko ruefully.

Fritz nodded. “Well, let’s try it anyway. I want two cats modified. Plastic-coat them everywhere possible, seal the engine compartment and fill it with a nitrogen and hydrogen mixture of non-ignitable composition. Get our micro-Linde column working for the nitrogen and make an electrolysis plant for the hydrogen. You’ll need both the Linde and the electrolytic plant to get enough oxygen for the air-supply for the engine intakes, and you’d better dilute the oxygen with any nitrogen you can spare, then adjust the turbines to run on that.”

“And what do I keep the oxygen in?” asked Jacko.

“They’ve a fair supply of the plastic poly-polymer they use for spraying the huts. It shouldn’t be beyond our capacity to blow a gasbag from that.”

“It all sounds feasible,” said Jacko after some thought, “but I doubt the capacity of the micro-Linde to give us all the nitrogen we need.”

“So do I,” nodded Fritz, “that’s why I said to modify two cats only. There’s plenty of other things to try, but this is the most obvious, and we’ve neither time nor the resources to start nitrogen fixation in a big way.” He went to the window, opened the shutter and stared moodily out at the red and featureless wasteland.

“Sand,” he said. “Nothing but bloody sand, fine-grained, abrasive and all- pervading. What we need, Jacko, is something completely new in the way of transport on Tazoo. I wonder what the Tazoons themselves employed.”

Three days later and the modification of the cats was in full swing. Fritz had just returned from inspecting the work when the radio buzzed.

“Lieutenant Van Noon.”

“Fritz, Nevill here. I’ve got some work for you.”

“Bring it over,” said Fritz. “A little more won’t make much difference.”

“Right. Be with you in about ten minutes. We’ve found what might be some sort of mechanism.”

“Now you have me interested,” said Fritz. “What is it?”

“That’s what I want you to tell me.”

Ten minutes later Nevill arrived and eyed the jury-rigged electrolysis plant. Then he signalled to his assistants who dragged a large object into the hut and dropped it on the floor. Fritz looked at it dubiously.

“I think you’ve come to the wrong department. It looks like the great grandaddy of an alien chicken wishbone once belonging to some grandaddy alien chicken. Why not present it to the biology department?”

“I did,” said Nevill, “but they sent it right back with the message that you were responsible for investigating machinery.”

“Machinery?” Fritz surveyed the acquisition moodily. “Have you tried it on the catering people? Perhaps they could turn it into some sort of soup.”

“Machinery,” said Nevill firmly. “And I’ll tell you why. It isn’t animal, it’s vegetable—Tazoon ironwood to be precise. Also, it didn’t grow that way. It was manufactured, or at least trimmed to shape, as witness the tooling marks. Furthermore, the Tazoons were plenty fond of them because the Southern plain out yonder has them at an estimated density of nearly fifty thousand to the square kilometre.”

Fritz choked on his words. “Thousand?”

Nevill nodded. “And that plain is pretty big. If the sampling we have done is representative of the whole area there could be many millions of them on that one site alone. I know the Tazoons were alien beyond our conception of the word, but I just can’t see them producing that many just for the hell of it. That would be an exercise akin to paving the Sahara desert with pencil sharpeners. It’s my belief that the wishbones are something functional. I want you to tell me what they were and what their function was.”

Fritz nodded. “I’ll let you have a preliminary report in a day or so, but if that’s a machine I should hate to see their idea of a great big alien chicken wishbone.”

After Nevill had left, Fritz spent a quiet hour examining the thing from all angles and going all over the surface of it with a magnifying glass looking for clues as to its function. Then Jacko had it hauled to the workshop for a more thorough examination. He reported back when the work was completed.

“I think we have something here, Fritz. You know those nodules on the inner surfaces, well, the fluoroscope shows a dark mass of some foreign material in each. If you’re agreeable we’re proposing to cut one out and see what it is.”

“Start cutting,” Fritz said, “because if this is a sample of Tazoon engineering then the sooner we get to grips with it the better.”

Reluctantly the handsaw cut into the ancient ironwood. Halfway through, the blade screeched complainingly on some hard inclusion. Jacko made another cut at a tangent and suddenly the nodule became detached, and from inside it he shook a large, dusty crystal on to the table.

“Now that’s interesting!” said Fritz. “There are metal fibres in the structure of the carcass and metallized facets on the crystal. On this evidence I’d say this was some form of piezo-electric device. And see how the crystal is drilled— do you suppose there could have been strings across this thing?”

Jacko counted the nodules—equal on both sides. “Lord, a harp!” he said in a voice heavy with incredulity.

Fritz stared at him dubiously. “Or a sound-transducer,” he said. “There are common electrical paths through the ironwood, and connections to the crystals. If you applied an alternating current to those contacts, the crystals would excite the strings in sympathy according to the resonant frequency of the particular system. I wonder what on earth it would sound like?”

They looked at each other in silence for a time.

“Jacko, start re-stringing what’s left of this thing while I sort out a power amplifier and a few bits and pieces. Together we can make some be-eautiful music.”

“Right,” said Jacko, “but if your conception of music is anything like your engineering I’m going to dig out some earplugs too.”

Three

It took three hours to complete the assembly. Fritz disappeared to the communications hut and returned with an assortment of equipment which he appeared to assemble more by inspiration than by design. When everything was ready he switched on. The first results were shattering, and the electronics needed drastic revision before a reasonably tolerable result was obtained.

After some final adjustments Fritz pronounced himself satisfied with the results and dropped into a chair to listen attentively, his gaze wandering to the open shutter and the blood-red sunset trailing nakedly beyond.

“Listen to it, Jacko!” said Fritz happily. “Alien and beautiful beyond recall.”

“I might just point out,” said Jacko, “that if somebody attempted to re-string a hundred-thousand year old grand piano with random electrical cable and without any idea of the scale and pitch involved, the results would sound equally alien.”

“I’m in no mood to quibble with one who possesses such a tiny soul,” said Fritz. “To me this is music such as the ancient Tazoons knew it as they walked hand in hand in the eyeless evenings of old Tazoo. Can’t you